I thought that my voyage had come to its end
At last the limit of my power,
That the path before me was closed,
That the provisions were exhausted
And the time to come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.
But I find that thy will knows no end in me,
And when old words die out on the tongue,
New melodies break forth from the heart;
And where the old tracks are lost,
A new country is revealed with its wonders.
The sonnet was among the first few words I had read on the broacher alongside the exquisite list names they had published on it as soon as we passed through the entrance and stepped in the lobby. The walls either side had the various portrait of prominent authors who had contributed to the English literature through their valuable works. The names contained were
